


It Might Be You, Actually

by Wonko



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Mashed Potato Ficathon, marcus piper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: Marcus's new girlfriend wants to have a talk about their relationship.





	It Might Be You, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> Let the mashing commence!

It was a quiet day in Orthopaedics at St James’, so for once Marcus Dunn was able to get away on time. Good thing too, because he had to cook for his girlfriend of three months, Phoebe: a nurse he’d met on one of his now-frequent trips to the local watering hole that most of the medics at the hospital visited at one time or another. Every hospital seemed to have a favoured destination, and it was a truth universally acknowledged that medical professionals all drank far more than they’d ever advise any patient of theirs to do.

Before his divorce, Marcus had usually had to demur from invitations to the pub, citing a need to get home for the kids or to put dinner on. His colleagues had usually given him a sympathetic glance or two and some platitudes about how hard it must be to essentially be a single parent for months of the year. He’d always sad he didn’t mind, but secretly he’d longed to be part of those happy, laughing groups, decompressing after a long day.

Now he was divorced, his kids were grown and had flown the nest, and he could go to the pub as often as he liked. It turned out, that was almost every night. It was on one of these nights that he’d met Phoebe. She was tall, blonde, rake thin, with deep, chocolate brown eyes - Marcus had never denied having a type - and he’d liked her almost immediately. She’d seemed to like him too, after a bit of time to warm up to him at least, and they’d begun dating about a month after they’d met. Just simple things like drinks at the pub after work, the odd film, a couple of meals out. Just casual.

Tonight was a bit different though. Tonight she’d said she wanted to talk and it had sounded serious enough that he’d felt it warranted an invite to his home. He planned to cook dinner - three courses, with wine pairings, candlelit, romantic. He rather thought Phoebe might be angling to talk about commitment, about moving their relationship to the next level. With that end in mind, he’d made sure he’d changed the sheets that morning and that the condoms in his bedside drawer were still in date. 

She was due at 7 o’clock, so he was working from the moment he got in. The starter didn’t need any preparation, it was just pate and oatcakes, but the beef Wellington would need an hour in the oven, plus chilling and resting time. He’d thought about making puff pastry, had even got as far as watching some instructional videos on Youtube, but had decided in the end just to buy some premade from Tesco and say he’d made it himself. Phoebe would never know. Dessert was some very fine (Finest, in fact, if Tesco was to be believed) Madagascan vanilla ice cream.

As soon as he got home, he pulled on the Kiss The Cook apron Cameron had got him for Christmas one year and got to work. He par-boiled some potatoes - Maris Pipers, an excellent variety, he felt - ready for roasting, before searing his beef fillet, chilling it, and assembling the components of the Wellington. While that was cooking, he put some effort into setting the table with the best china - Bernie’s grandmother’s wedding china, in fact. Somehow he had ended up with that in the divorce, probably because she’d rolled over and capitulated to all his demands for the sake of a quiet life. No more than he deserved, he thought. And anyway, she’d got remarried recently. He was sure Serena Campbell had plenty of fine china - she seemed like that sort of woman.

Finally, at seven o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rang. Marcus took off his apron and checked that his hair was still sufficiently oiled in the hall mirror before opening the door with what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.

“Phoeb, how are you?” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. She turned her head at the last moment and turned it into a cheek kiss.

“Uhm...I’m fine, Marcus. Thanks.” She stepped inside, wiping her feet on the doormat and sniffing the air. “Are you cooking?”

He nodded his head graciously. “Bit of a special occasion, isn’t it?” he said.

“Is it?” She frowned.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk...about us.” His voice lowered on the last two words, lending them a romantic, intimate tone.

She visibly paled. “Oh, God. Shit. I’m so sorry, Marcus. I think I’ve given you completely the wrong idea.”

For the first time that night, Marcus’s confidence about where the evening was going began to slip. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Let’s sit down.”

He followed her obediently into the living room and sat down on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for her to sit beside him. Instead, she chose to pace a little in front of him. She was about ten years younger than him, but stress was adding years. Suddenly he was viscerally reminded of Bernie and the way she’d wring her hands together and pace back and forth before every emotional confrontation.

“Spit it out Phoeb,” he said. “It can’t be that bad.”

She stopped pacing. “Phoebe,” she said. “I can’t count how many times I’ve told you. My name is Phoebe. Not Phoeb. Not Phoebs. Phoebe.”

He laughed. “All right!” He shook his head. “Sorry Phoeb...e.”

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “It doesn’t matter,” she allowed. “Listen… Marcus… There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it. Like pulling off a plaster.” She stopped pacing and looked him in the eye. “I’ve met someone else.”

For a moment he was stunned into silence. Then he laughed. “What?” he said. “What do you mean, Phoeb?”

“Phoebe!” Her patience seemed to have snapped. “Jesus Christ, is that extra syllable really too much for you?” She began pacing again. “You never bloody listen to me! Your eyes practically glaze over when I talk. Is it any wonder I looked elsewhere?”

He paled. “You’re cheating on me.”

She shook her head. “No. I would never do that to anyone. I’m actually breaking up with you so I can go out with someone else. You see how that works?”

“Who?” he demanded, his tone both belligerent and incredulous. “Someone at the hospital? Or at that...whatever that class you go to is?”

“Photography,” she supplied, rolling her eyes. “I’ve only talked about it a dozen times. I’ve shown you my photographs. Do you honestly just overwrite all memories that aren’t about yourself?”

He flushed a deep red. “This is a bit rich. You’re the one that’s strayed.”

“No,” she insisted. “I haven’t. I’m just explaining to you why we’re not going to be seeing each other anymore.”

He folded his arms over his chest, sinking back into the sofa. “You still haven’t told me who,” he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “Not that it matters, but it’s the new locum anaesthetist on the cardiac ward. Alex.”

He racked his brains, trying to think if he’d met the bloke. He didn’t have much call to visit the cardiac ward, really. “Don’t think I’ve met him.”

She shook her head slowly. “Her,” she said. “And no, I don’t suppose you have met her. I was going to introduce you in the canteen last week, but she wasn’t that keen. Probably wasn’t up for a twenty minute lecture on the merits of surgery over anaesthetics.”

Marcus hadn’t heard a thing past the feminine pronoun. “Her?” he spluttered. “You’re leaving me for a woman?”

“You always knew I was bi,” she said. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

“Well…” He trailed off, flushing red again, deciding to leave unvoiced the idea that he’d thought of her bisexuality more as an opportunity for a threesome somewhere down the line than a genuine sexual identity.

“It’s not you, Marcus. It’s me. Honestly. I’m just...looking for something more. And I think I’ve found it with Alex. She makes me feel…” She trailed off, a small smile spreading unbidden across her lips. “Just...she makes me feel excited. Like I’m twenty again and anything’s possible.” When he didn’t reply, Phoebe shook her head. “I’ll let myself out,” she said. “Goodbye, Marcus. Thanks for…” She stopped. She’d been planning to say  _ thanks for the good times,  _ but she figured she’d been honest so far and wouldn’t sully that by pretending the relationship had been anything other than shallow and dull. “Uhm...well, just thanks. See you at work.”

She headed for the door, then pulled up short when his voice called out to her. “Phoebe? This Alex of yours...what’s her surname?”

Phoebe smiled as the image of Alex’s smiling face entered her head. “Dawson,” she said. “It’s Alex Dawson.”

Marcus heard the door click shut. Alex Dawson. Alex bloody Dawson. How was it possible? How could he have been one-upped by the same woman again?

He sat in stupefied silence for a long time, staring into space. He might have sat there for longer, but the smoke alarm began to go off. He took a deep breath through his nose.

The beef Wellington was burning.


End file.
